


Tarquin and Sheridan on the River

by Mitch



Category: Keeping Up Appearances
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-19 15:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitch/pseuds/Mitch
Summary: Tarquin loves Sheridan and wants to know more about his parents. Sheridan has a not-so lovely day planned for his mummy and gives Tarquin a chance to see her up close and in action.
Relationships: Sheridan/Tarquin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Tarquin and Sheridan on the River

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Episode 24, or Season 3 Episode 7 Aired in the year 1992

In their London flat bronze skinned Tarquin reclined on the divan they'd moved to face expansive windows showing a foggy sunset. Propped on his raised knees was a photo album lovingly covered with the most god-awful pink and green flowery tapestry. The borders sported yards of gathered ecru lace. Tarquin gave the object a lopsided grin and opened it to just before the middle. There was his love, seated on a pony at some park, tears of absolute anger leaking from his periwinkle-blue eyes. The object of the anger was a step behind the poor four-legged beast, dressed in tapestry rather too similar to that covering the album of her little prince.

Oh the untapped depths of anger and frustration in Sheridan Bucket! The flush of his lad's cheeks offset the ecru lace at collar and cuffs of his little tapestry jacket. Tarquin tisked as he turned pages, and paused to brush his fingers lovingly across an image of that black-haired youth. This was his love at age sixteen, briefcase in hand, dodging yet another of the tapestry wearer's showers of kisses. Her broad brimmed blue hat blocked part of her son's face. Only one periwinkle blue eye managed to blaze around the brim.

Unbeknownst to both Richard and Hyacinth, it was their son's last day of school. The little chap graduated two years early and went on to university on a scholarship again of which neither of his parents knew. From there, two years on and only eighteen he'd show up at a meeting for recruits that would do certain things for the security of their country, all while finishing an outstanding education.

And the last page showed that love, bowler hat and waistcoat, bidding adieu to Hyacinth and it was obvious that Richard had clicked the shutter.

Tarquin wanted to meet Richard.

The man was such an intrigue! He had raised a remarkable son so full of the capacity for love, but so in need of love. And Richard, perhaps the only man in England, had the capacity to tolerate all the atrocities of Sheridan's mother. Tarquin laughed. He'd no serious desire to meet her!

Richard showed nothing but unconditional faith and love of his son. And yet Sheridan held a deep resentment for his father's lack of protection from that overbearing wife of his. In dark nights or moments of exhaustion on some bloody mission, Sheridan would wax into ire for what Richard could have done but did not to protect his youth from the torture of Hyacinth.

It was that wimpy father who had taken Sheridan camping in those early years. Richard had admired the lad from his camp stool while Sheridan spent hours running through England's wild and uncharted forests and Richard who had allowed even more ranging sole adventures to continue despite the numerous scrapes and cuts doctored at the rental caravan each night of their Hyacinth-less trips.

Tarquin wanted to see Hyacinth in action.

Yes, he'd made the request of his love in their early days and been vehemently rebuked. And he'd mentioned the desire again around each holiday. They could observe from afar, watch the Bucket seniors on an outing around town. No chance, had been the constant answer.

And now the chance was here. Sneaky Bucket junior had arranged a torture of sorts. A day aboard a little river dump he'd purchased just for the occasion. Tarquin exaggerated. Sher had purchased it to help a friend out of financial difficulties. His intent was to donate the leaky little rust-bucket to a local charity for their monthly auction. But first, she, the stalwart little vessel, would host the mighty vessel, Hyacinth.

Tarquin doubted he wanted to see the result, but his ever-amazing Sher had set the stage. Tarquin would see, but not meet, the dreaded mother.

"You're not dressed?" Sher leaned over the back of the divan and kissed Tarquin's temple. "Old memories again?"

"Of years before I knew you. Wish we'd met sooner."

"Darling, I am soundly glad you were spared that. Now, kindly dress for the excursion. We need to be inside before they arrive to see the grand yacht I've no doubt she's convinced herself I've arranged for the day's riparian adventure."

"Riparian?" Tarquin closed the album and lovingly rested it on the cushion to his left. "On the river? She'll label it such? I really can't quite—"

"After today's little observation you'll know—"

Tarquin kissed his words away. Then he stroked Sher's dark eyebrows. "Know more than you think I do."

Sheridan tilted his head and regarded the beauteous smile on his lover's face. "I can describe her until the Andes dissolve. But to see is to believe."

Ensconced, secreted away as if on some typical mission for Mi5, Tarquin sipped a particularly tart, mint tea and peered through the yacht's shaded portal glass. They were fumbling along on the deck, Sher's mère et père.

The youngest Bucket was scrunched low on the bench opposite, avoiding the view. "And Daddy will follow her—"

"Darling, she's gotten him to untie it from the dock. Should we intervene?" He was halfway to his feet, ready to go rescue the senior Buckets.

"Not on your life. Well, unless he starts drowning." Sheridan took a quick peek through the round glass. "Oh, I hadn't anticipated them floating out of sight. We'll have to shove off and take chase."

"I'll handle that. Neither will recognize me if they happen to glance behind," Tarquin had said that with no audible reproof. They wouldn't even recognize him! The parents of the love of his life! He let out a small tisk and was up on deck within seconds. Almost three years together and he'd yet to be introduced to the man's parents!

Hours later he sat on that same deck, staring at Sheridan. "She nearly drowned him, you know. Shouting at him to swim faster as if that would be possible. A man his age, swimming faster than the current, or even better, able to hold the whole damned boat. I mean…"

"Speechless, are you?"

Tarquin took a sizable swig from the flask Sher offered him. "And don't think I didn't notice earlier. You said you'd intervene if it was he drowning. No mention of her."

Sheridan grinned. "And didn't you look a right smart lifeguard diving in to rescue her hat."

Tarquin glared for a moment and then matched Sher's lovely grin. "It was a fine bonnet. Perfect for a riparian adventure and besides, darling, I like hats on ladies."

Sheridan leaned forward and kissed him. "Bless me but I think you do. And I love you for it all the same."

A gloomy sky obscured the sun as it set on the bit of forest bordering the river. They were moored in the original cozy little slip. Sheridan shrugged into a dark blue jacket, resplendent with gold buttons that would have delighted Hyacinth. He adjusted black-rimmed glasses that suited his square face and nodded silently. Tarquin took up a guard position at the open portal. The rendezvous would be quick and they expected, smooth.

The perfect picture of a well-to-do Englishman taking leisure time on his yacht, Sheridan hopped ashore in a graceful stride and purely by happenstance approached the target. It was a pale man in a black turtleneck who was standing just outside the reach of a dockside lantern. Darkness seemed to suit the man. Well, it also suited Sheridan's intentions. He palmed the little thumb drive, fingers casually folded over the piece of plastic he intended to exchange for another. On his was a well known plan of an aircraft. What he planned on obtaining was information on a chemical disbursement device capable of covering ten city blocks within seconds.

"Good evening." His greeting was non-committal. "Out for some night air?"

"Let's not belabor the point of our meeting. Do you have it?"

Sher smiled. The true accent was masked with a poor Spanish one, with the clipped and fast paced consonants. His target was Polish. He continued to give the man one of his very best smiles, perfected at la mére's tea with light refreshments before he was ten years of age. "Shall we dispense with all nonsense? Of course, old chap." Sheridan extended his open hand, the little thumb drive a black spot in the dim light. "And you've what I need, yes?"

"Oh of course." The man raised his hand, fingers coiled.

Sher saw the shift of his weight, betrayed only by a crease at knee of the well-tailored tweeds. He dropped to his right and drew his weapon. The long silencer hindered his speed. He was clearly an entire second slower getting the barrel on true aim but his shot was first. The .38 tore into the man's chest and blew through his heart, exiting through shattered ribs along his spine. He uttered not a sound as he dropped to his knees, then sagged to the damp grass like a bag of grain. There'd be a small bit of blood to clean up where the bullet had entered along with some pink foam by his mouth. The dead man had bit his lip at the moment of death. Damn! That information was critical and his target clearly had on intention of giving it up. Sher dragged the dead, fake Spaniard three meters beyond the reach of the light.

Tarquin was there within a few breaths. "Damn."

"Yes. Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?" Sher shifted in his crouch and began searching the dead man. He found another weapon in an ankle holster and two small throwing knives in the lining of his tweed jacket. "Too heavy a fabric for this time of year. Obvious."

"No one. The heat vision picked up no one. His rental is in the car park, the engine still showing warm. Even if there was someone else with him I haven't seen them. Shall we take him down river?"

Sher pulled a thumb drive from the corpse's shirt pocket. "Look! Could this be it? Why would the fool try to shoot me if he brought the information? What could be on this thumb drive?"

"Maybe he lost his nerve. That thumb drive? A virus? Sher, let's move. Warehouse Silver is closest."

"Yes. You take him down river. I'll drive his rental and meet you at Silver. Let the techs go through the rental and inspect this drive." With a face as cool as the river's water, Sheridan hoisted the body of his latest kill over his shoulder and dumped it on the yacht's rear deck. He kissed Sher and strolled to the car park.

Their departure as well as arrival had been uneventful. Sheridan watched as the contents of the thumb drive were displayed on a computer isolated from any network. "Success." Tarquin thumped him on the back and grinned. Sheridan nodded.

They drove through London in silence. Finally at the security gate for the flat's parking garage, Tarquin cleared his throat. "I want to meet them."

"Love—"

"No, Sher. It's time you worked up enough courage to introduce me to your parents. I want to meet Richard. I want him to get to know me. And yes, I want to spend time with Hyacinth."

Speechless, Sheridan left the gate attendant standing there as he took in the sight of Tarquin's earnest face. "No one, and I'm quite positive here, no one has ever said a more shocking sentence."

A stubborn scrunch to his brows, Tarquin crossed his arms. He didn't need to repeat himself with Sher. The man had an eidetic memory.

His face showing none of the trepidation that roared through him, Sheridan managed to get the Jaguar into its usual spot beside Tarquin's land rover. He wasn't going to escape Tarquin's particular type of candle-light supper. But how long he could delay it, that was his single candle of hope.

At the rather quite nice Bucket residence Hyacinth regarded her boating bonnet. "Ruined, Richard. Absolutely ruined."

"Oh, I don't know. A bit of scrubbing. Maybe a dry cleaners can get it back in shape. If that young man hadn't dived in for it—"

"He mightn't as well have bothered. It's ruined." A few lady-like sobs escaped her, each well timed with a dribbling tear.

"Well he managed to save me at least. Wish I'd had time to thank—"

"What's that dear? Oh, Richard, you've tracked mud in. And I just had a waxing done."

"I was saying he saved me. I wanted to thank—"

"Yes, yes. It'll all come clean. Not to worry. Of course I'll have to cancel morning coffee with Elizabeth. Just as well. Spilled coffee on top of your mud and I can't imagine the cost of a professional waxing for the kitchen."

"I'm quite sure you can imagine the cost." Richard slumped in a kitchen chair.

"Might as well have the dining room redone at the same time. You know if this hat doesn't come clean I'll need a new one quite soon."

"Whatever for?" He shook his head.

"Another boating day, dear. How silly of you to ask. But today's didn't go as planned. If my Sheridan had been there he'd have caught Mummy's boat and had it secure in seconds. He's such a strong swimmer. Not at all like that chap who barely saved my hat."

"Saved your husband," Richard mumbled. "Wish I had gotten a chance to thank him."

"I didn't even see his face. No point in worrying about thanking him. No idea if he was a gentleman or a dockside swain."

"I got quite a good look at him as he was saving my life. I'll know him if I see him again."

"Not if he's a gigolo, Richard! Yes, he saved my hat but seriously, Richard, you must look to who you associate with. Only the best people. Set an example for Sheridan!"

End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this. I don't have a beta for these Keeping Up Appearances stories, so my apologies if I mess up word usage. I'm trying my best at such terms as "car park" and hoping they work. Please send me some feedback if you have word usage suggestions! Thanks again!


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